Cold Poem by Ethan Schaff

I feel cold
in this cell of self pity.

Trying to change my locks of personality.
I am all alone in this corner with a candle wick.
Numb searching for a way to break
These chains clamped at my ankles.
Feeling the damp wet floor
reaching for the door
begging to be heard.

Wax burns my fingers
I wince as the flame drops
*splish* the only light. Gone. Dead.
Losing consciousness, croaking for help.

But hold what grey do I see?
This hue reduces from a blur to a box.
Inside this opening lies a pair of pupils,
peaceful yet drowning with shame.

The only clear detail;
The iris filled with the dark purple,
Stolen from evenings dusk.
Tears drip off into darkness
Eyes close

left alone.

I curl together hoping for warmth
Nothing just a cold empty shell
Look to see the eyes return
A clack echoes on the walls
Cracks and beams appear
Shown from a torch, placed above me
There she rests along my side

Head lying on my shoulder
Kept by company with arms wrapped around her

My soul is burning from the inside.